


The End of the War

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bonding, Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-15
Updated: 2009-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-01 07:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10184279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.Each chapter will be in a different POV, so beware.  *grin* Severus left the wizarding world and is living as a Muggle.  Now, Harry Potter, who desperately wants to kill him, has come to disrupt his life.  This story was begun before the seventh book was put out, so I'm ignoring it completely.  In the early chapters there is no sex, but there will be later on, I promise.





	1. Extraction from Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

I had lived my whole life feeling as though there was a sharp thorn in my side. Every day, every night, I felt it poking me. No one knew of this thorn, as far as I could tell it was not real, and I’d be damned if I’d let anyone see any kind of weakness or emotion from me. It wasn’t as though it was particularly bothersome to me at every moment, simply that it was there. It was only at times like this, when I was facing something exceptionally sharp and deadly, that I could feel the splinter like pain in my side. Perhaps, years ago, I had been cursed by some wizard or witch that wanted me to be less than in charge of myself at times. Perhaps it was all an effort to make me somewhat more human? Hmph, as though I needed to be more human.

“Why aren’t you attacking?!” demanded a deep, angry voice. “Fight me! Don’t run like the coward I know you to be!” I flinched at another flicker of sharp pain in my side. If there was one thing that could cause me to lose all control, it was that word, “coward”. I had never considered myself a coward, although many others did, and I hated it when people started trying to make me out to be one. Honestly, how many people did I have to kill before they stopped calling me that?

I said nothing, only moved a bit more to the right, my enemy was coming from the left. The way he kept shouting made me wonder if the boy had a death wish or something. If I had wanted to kill him, by now, the boy would be dead.

Not boy, man, as he was in his twenty-fifth year. The man who had proven, to the whole wizarding world, that love was indeed the strongest weapon of all. Harry Potter, the boy who destroyed the Dark Lord Voldemort. I sneered, I should have killed him years ago, before he could chase after me and try to kill me. I took a deep breath, losing my sneer. That was the problem though, wasn’t it?

I didn’t want to kill. I hadn’t wanted to kill since before the Dark Lord had returned. Since before Harry Potter had defeated him as a baby. In fact, I had planted the idea of infiltrating Hogwarts months before the Dark Lord had called on me to discuss “our” new plan. I was cunning, difficult, self-relying, and entirely fed up with putting blood on my hands.

“You damn traitor,” there was another crash to my left, “you killed him, you killed countless people, innocents and people from the Order! You betrayed thousands of magical people, and you helped others kill by telling secrets all throughout the war. Come and show me your ugly mug you vicious asshole! Your damn information killed Dumbledore, killed Seamus and Neville! Show me your goddamned face!” His voice was raised in hysteria and I thought about that. I had expected there to be another spy in the Order, but had never figured out who it was. It seemed as though my suspicions had been correct. However, as tempted as I was to fill Mr. Potter in on the true state of things, I really just wanted to get out of the house.

I looked to the left and put out a tentative strand of thought. Sure enough, Potter was to my left, about to turn around the pillar I was hiding behind. I moved further to the right, and then slipped from shadow to shadow to the other side of the room. Any minute now, Harry Potter would likely have backup, and I would be caught. I needed to get out of here fast.

I moved quickly towards the door wondering if Potter had had time to trap every entrance and exit in my house. I had lived here for all of four and a half years. A half year after the Dark Lord’s fall I purchased the property. I then made obvious appearances all around Europe to draw their attention away from it for a full year. Finally I completely disappeared and started living my new, kill free life, trying to forget all of the blood soaked past. Trust Harry Potter to remind me of it. My wand was in my sweater sleeve, thank all the gods for old habits, so I could restart the whole plan elsewhere, not particularly needing anything that was left in the house. I did feel a pang of regret, I had been planning to share some homemade chili with Mrs. Eldrich tomorrow, and she’d never know not to bother visiting.

I reached the door, checked it over as thoroughly as I could for traps, found none, opened the door and slipped outside into the darkness. At least, it should have been darkness, as it was the middle of the night. However, upon leaving the house, a bright light came on from over my door. The motion detector had detected me, flooding my whole back yard with bright white light. I had installed that light to keep people from sneaking up on me. I hadn’t intended to get stuck by it.

There was a sound in the bushes and I turned quickly, staring into the startled eyes of a dear before it dashed away into the woods. If only I was capable of moving that quickly.

“Come back here coward,” I flinched again as I dashed towards the woods surrounding my house. “You’re not getting away, damn you!” I was just on the edge of the forest when the backdoor opened again. Two things happened simultaneously at that moment, the first being the, “petrificus totalus,” scream that echoed across my yard from Harry Potter’s mouth, and the second being the pain in my side reaching an intense level which made me double over in pain, causing the curse to fly harmlessly over my head. There was a loud thump, and I turned around quickly to see another deer fall to the ground, its eyes wide and frightened.

“Honestly Potter,” I snapped irritably, “please refrain from scaring my wildlife by petrifying them. I’ve spent months trying to encourage them into my yard,” I unpetrified the deer, which scrambled up onto its feet and dashed away into the woods. I turned my now glaring eyes on Harry.

“You!” Harry’s eyes were furious, and slightly mad, “you encouraged them? For potions ingredients or something? Deer meat?” I realized that for some reason we were talking, or rather yelling, at each other, and I fostered this course of action, as it was much better than flinging curses at one another.

“Oh yes Potter, because it is totally likely that they would return here if their family members disappeared in my yard. They keep the vegetation down, which I appreciate as I do not like clipping bushes the muggle way.” Potter stared at me as though I had grown an extra limb suddenly. Taking the pause very seriously, I dashed out into the woods, quickly hiding behind a tall oak tree and listening for any sounds of pursuit.

“I hate you!” Potter’s voice rang out through the darkness, “I’ll always hate you, you’ll never understand how much I hate you!” ‘Yes Potter,’ I thought, ‘I know.’

The sound of running footsteps came next, and Harry Potter was moving through the woods, looking for me. I kept myself well hidden, listening to the sounds, still wondering how the boy, man I chided myself, could possibly be responsible for the capture of so many Death Eaters during the war when he was so terribly loud. “Pop, pop,” came the sounds of apparition, and I became more worried that I could possibly be caught.

“Harry! Where are you?” the worried voice of one Hermione Granger came through the woods.

“We told you not to come alone, damn you!” Ronald Weasley called out into the darkness. That was an interesting thought, I decided, why would Potter have come here alone?

“If you see him, kill him!” Potter’s voice carried though the trees.

“Harry!” Granger’s voice sounded indignant, “as if we would do such a thing! I take it he’s out here somewhere then?”

“If he was, he’d be miles away by now, ‘Mione,” Weasley’s voice was almost amused.

“You don’t know that, don’t forget what Draco said about some of the more powerful Death Eater’s Ron,” there was a nagging pain in my side followed by a cold rush of dread. Surely they couldn’t know…

“He’s running from me Hermione! He hasn’t apparated anywhere, so you both should be looking for him!” Harry sounded desperate.

“Do you think it’s true?” Weasley’s voice sounded low and I realized suddenly that it was moving closer to me instead of away. I held completely still, holding my breath.

“Well,” Granger muttered back, “You remember what Draco said, I think it’s possible that if he’s not apparating, it’s because he can’t, instead of won’t.”

“You really believe it? That,” a hesitation, “Voldemort,” said as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth, “somehow stole the magic from his followers?” I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Hello Professor Snape,” Granger’s voice came from my right side. I nearly died from shock. My dark eyes bore into Grangers. I was furious with myself for being caught.

“Granger,” I acknowledged, keeping my voice as stead as I could.

“Weasley,” she said, her brow furrowed. I continued to stare at her. She was visible only as an outline, but I knew enough to not take her presence lightly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what exactly I was apologizing for, but certain that I needed to.

“I take it you didn’t know about the wedding?” She was talking amiably enough, but my fingers were still clenched firmly around my wand. 

“I suppose here is where I mention that I haven’t had contact with the magical world for years now, hmm?” I snapped my eyes around the area for the figure of Mr. Weasley, trying to pinpoint where that other person was, “not that it really matters.”

“You know ‘Mione, he’s very dangerous,” a figure emerged from the bushes off to her side, and a tall, wide man came into view. Again, all I could see was the form, but that alone was enough to tell me that just like Potter, Ronald Weasley had grown into quite a man.

“If Professor Snape wanted to kill us, he’d have done it by now,” Mrs. Weasley was shrewd as always. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve not been informed of wizarding society for years? You’ve been living as a muggle through and through?” I nodded my head carefully. “Amazing, not even the Prophet delivered?” She truly sounded incredulous.

“Granger, do think for a minute. You’ve got brains enough to work this one out. How long do you think it would have taken for them to figure out where I was? I’d have needed to get the money to pay for the Prophet somehow, it simply wouldn’t work,” I snapped at her. Living as a muggle was bad enough without having someone remind me of what I was mission out on.

Weasley put an arm around Hermione and pulled her a bit closer, “Weasley,” he said slightly proudly, “she’s not a Granger anymore, she married me three and a half years ago.” I looked at Ron, then back to Hermione.

“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely this time. I knew now what I was apologizing for.

“It’s alright, he’s useful in many ways,” she said, amusement in her voice. “I don’t suppose you’ll come quietly?” I snorted, “no, I didn’t think you would, but one can hope, can’t they?” I snorted again.

“Allow myself to be dragged away by the three of you? To a court where I won’t be tried fairly, to be thrown into Azkaban, where likely the Dementors have been reinstated as guards, where I will go mad because I have a guilty conscious about all manner of things you couldn’t even begin to understand? No Granger, sorry,” I gave a brief nod at Weasley, “Weasley then, no, I’m not completely insane, although sometimes I wish I were.” 

“Well then,” she said, and with a swift flick of her wrist, I didn’t even see the wand, she had summoned ropes to bind me. Of course she had been excellent with wordless magic before she had left my classes in her sixth year.

“I won’t allow you,” I said softly, flicking my own wrist and untying the ropes.

“I see, then the rumors are false,” she said, flicking her wand again. I moved away, flinging the expelliarmus charm at her. Weasley got in the way, tossing a hex my way, and getting hit by my charm. Weasley’s wand flew into the bushes and Hermione used the distraction to try to use expelliarmus on me. I ducked behind a tree.

“You’re still sharp as ever Professor,” she called out softly. I had found no use for wands for four years, but my battle reflexes were still sharp.

“You’ve gotten much better Mrs. Weasley,” I said, panting slightly. Unfortunately I was getting old. I had been completely drained when the Dark Lord had died, and still hadn’t fully recovered. I was much better now than I had been, but I was still no where near as good as I should be in this fight. I needed to get away, but how to do that with two trained and battle hardened adults and one rampaging bull all intent on capturing me?

Speaking of the rampaging bull, where was he? I turned around, searching every area near for signs of Potter, but found none. Perhaps this was how he had done it? Used those two for distraction then sprung on his prey. There was a sudden bright flash in front of me, and Harry Potter’s bright, insane face was inches from my own.

“I found you Pro..fess..or,” he said in a mad, sing songy voice.

I had a chance to register surprise, anger, and then fear, as a wave of strong, unfocused power washed over me. Then my mind went black, and my body limp as my world became black.


	2. The Feelings Not Gone

  
Author's notes: Harry POV. Harry has to deal with some of the feelings he has regarding Snape.  


* * *

People say that revenge doesn’t make the anger and hurt go away. People say that only you can get rid of those feelings, by understanding them, by accepting them, by forgiveness.

Personally, I think they’re full of shit. I’m sure, for example, that the pain in my heart would be gone if they’d let me kill him. If they had let me destroy the one who had destroyed so many people who had been important to me. If they had let me destroy the one who had destroyed me. Hermione had taken my wand, and Ron was physically holding me away from him though. The traitor, the coward who ran behind others so he could live.

Severus Snape.

“Let me kill him!” I snarled, frantically clawing at Ron, trying to get away.

“Harry! Stop this madness, our orders were to capture him alive, not to kill him!” Ron’s voice was in my ear, loud, insistent, I wanted to shut it out. For six years I’d been looking for Snape, and now I was told I couldn’t kill him? They were mad, not me.

“Killed trying to resist, it’s understandable, these things happen!” I considered hitting Ron, but although my anger was so close to the surface that I was literally seeing red, I didn’t want to hurt Ron. He was my best friend.

“Except he’s no longer resisting Harry,” Hermione’s patient, calm voice said from behind Ron. She was near Snape now, looking at him. “Harry, what did you do to him?” She asked, and I glared. Maybe at her, maybe at Ron, at this point I wasn’t sure who I was looking at.

“Nothing! I haven’t killed him yet! Give me a moment and I will!”

“’Mione, this isn’t working,” Ron said as he pinned my flailing right arm behind me.

“Ron, I’m warning you,” I growled at him, my anger starting to focus on something, or rather someone, else.

“What?” he said mildly, “you’ll hurt me? Well, that’s not new. Lucky for me I’ve got tough skin these days.” For a second I paused, remembering why Ron was partly scaled all across his chest, but then cursed as he used that chance to force my other arm behind me. I considered biting him. “Don’t do it mate, I’m not worth it,” Ron said with a smile. I was still considering it.

“I’d feel safer if we just apperated to the hospital, I’m not sure what Harry did, but it could be bad.” Ron nodded and I screamed in frustration. I felt like my heart was on fire with anguish, and I wanted to lash out, but couldn’t.

Before I could voice my frustrations again, we were in Hermione’s Hospital for the Mentally Anguished. The magical dampening spells cast on the building left me feeling slightly dumb, as they always did, and my will to fight disappeared like it was never there. I sagged against Ron feeling frustrated, but not certain I really cared anymore.

“That’s right Harry, you’re tired and need a lie down,” Ron said soothingly. I shook my head at him.

“I hate you,” I mumbled, and Ron chuckled.

“I know, it’ll all be better in the morning,” he said cheerfully. I couldn’t argue, as it usually was, but I was still annoyed. I simply couldn’t give a damn about it at the moment.

He let me go and I got one glance at the unconscious Severus Snape before I was out of the entrance hall, and I felt my will to kill him surge within me again. To his benefit he was out of sight before I had a chance to really focus on him, or I might have tried to kill him again. As it was, the rage surged then died in a matter of seconds, leaving me feeling even more exhausted than before.

*

Hermione had spent years after the way developing and creating this hospital. She said it was a shame that St. Mungo’s dealt with the physical aspects of magical people’s ailments, but not the mental. Many people argued with her about it, I mean there’s no real cure for crazy people, right? Not even a magical cure. Even Ron argued with her about it. I didn’t, I thought she was on to something. Something that I didn’t think about before. Muggles had mental hospitals, why not magical people as well?

She thought the same, and reminded people that Legilimancy was originally a form of “mind healing” technique. No one bought this, not even me. She set about quoting from several books about it for months, publishing articles in all kinds of magazines, and even got a spot in The Daily Prophet. She held a fund raiser for it, and asked for help. At first, not very many people did.

With the first batch of money she made, much of it was from me back then, she bought a building near St. Mungo’s, but not too near. She got all the rights and such, and then posted an add for healers, no experience necessary. The turn out was amazing. She may not have seemed to have a very popular idea, but plenty of people were willing to profit. She calmly explained the purpose of the hospital, and let everyone know that no one would be paid to work here. Almost everyone left, it was no wonder.

From the five that stayed to learn more, four are still working at the hospital, the fifth trains people in, what Hermione calls, the proper form of Occlumancy and Legilimancy.

Not very many people thought she’d get very far, but as time went on, and the hospital grew, and patients got better, Hermione’s Hospital for the Mentally Anguished became the top place to take people who were mentally sick. St. Mungo’s sends patients to us, and HHMA, as it became known as, sends people to them.

All of the people who work here is now employed, complete with paychecks.

It was a real struggle at first, between Hermione’s pregnancy and her hospital, to get everything running smoothly, but was done, and now it’s not only seen as a respectable hospital, it’s talked about openly.

I often think of this place as mine, although I have no right to do so. I helped Hermione in any way I could, which often meant I gave a lot of donations, but that wasn’t all I gave. I helped build, I helped clean, and I helped Ron keep from going crazy with Hermione's food cravings. The hospital is her’s, but in a way, it belongs to all of us.

As I lay that morning in my bed, the one at the hospital, I couldn’t help but think about the origins of it. What had started out so small had become so big. Much like my feelings for Snape. As a teenager I hated him because I didn’t understand him, he was cruel, sarcastic, vicious, always though he was right, and entirely too secretive. That became righteous anger when I watched him kill Dumbledore, and blossomed into an obsessive desire to kill him. Hermione would call it an obsessive-compulsive behavior. Whatever it was, I’d spent years searching for him, and now here we were, him still alive, and me itching to kill him. What was wrong with me?

I sighed and sat up. It was dreadfully obvious that Ron had put me to bed, as I was in pajamas. If was me that sent me to bed, I either went completely clothed or completely unclothed. I suppose pajamas were better than everything, at least I wouldn’t have mud in my sheets again.

Slowly I got out of my bed and stretched. I was used to doing exercises every morning, so I did them right away. As my body moved and I seemed to be settling back into normal thought patterns, I tried to think of Snape. His ugly face with its abnormal nose, and the way he stood there in complete shock when I knocked on his door. How could that man, who had lived the majority of his life in magic worlds, stand there calmly in a large black sweater and a pair of black slacks? Didn’t he feel strange standing there in bare feet when he’d always had on robes and boots? How could he live in a house with two floors when he’d spent ten years teaching from a dungeon?

Why the hell couldn’t I feel the anger when I was in Hermione’s hospital? What spells and enchantments had she put on these walls?

I finished my exercises and headed for the bath. Hermione always wanted me to try out one of the healers here. All right, not always, but she did when I talked about Snape. She said she thought I needed help. Some kind of help she and Ron couldn’t give me. I told her to stuff it. I had lived my whole life relying mostly on myself, on her and Ron later on, but that had been a fight. I couldn’t imagine seeing a mind healer about my desire to kill Snape. Especially when I was sure that if I killed him, it would be over with. I’d no longer want to kill him if he was dead, right?

Dressing was quick, I was out of my room and into the cafeteria within minutes, grabbing a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit before sitting down at an empty table and waiting for my copy of The Prophet to drop on my table. It only took a minute, I had paid the owl and was looking at the cover story when Ron sat down across from me.

“Hey mate, how you feeling this morning?” He took one of my grapes and I glared at him as I set down the paper without seeing what it had said.

“Better than I did last night, that’s for sure,” I said, slapping his hand before he could snatch another grape.

“Told you you’d feel better in the morning. Hermione chewed my ears out for letting it slip that we might have found Snape last night. She thinks we should have watched him for a few days before going in to capture him.”

“He needs to die Ron,” I said fiercely, allowing him to take a strawberry.

“I never said I didn’t agree with you Harry, I just don’t think you are the one to do it. So we turned him in.” Ron backed up and stood as I tried to register what he had said.

“You did… what?” I asked, feeling my rage surface again.

“We turned him in. He’s gone, it’s no longer our job, The Ministry’s already dealt with him.” I was blinded by the fury I felt, and was across the table burying my fists as deeply into Ron as I could.

“How could you do that? The Ministry’ll kill him! He’s mine! I’m the one who is supposed to kill him!” Hands grabbed me and tried to pull me off Ron. All I could do was strike at anyone who came near.

“He’s dead already Harry,” came Hermione’s soft voice near me. I couldn’t think who she could mean, so I hit Ron again. Someone petrified me, but my anger broke the spell and I hit again.

“Harry, I don’t want scales on my arse you asshole!” Ron shouted.

That stunned me and for a moment, I stopped lashing out, just enough time for Ron and Hermione to both encircle me with their arms. What was going on exactly?

“Who’s dead,” I croaked, feeling my body shake with dread.

“Harry, it’s all over now, don’t you see?” Hermione’s voice was right in my ear, but I almost couldn’t hear her.

“Harry, Snape’s gone, he’s dead. The Ministry carried out the sentence this morning,” Ron’s voice was stronger than Hermione’s, but I could almost believe he hadn’t spoken.

“No,” I whispered, I was really shaking now, and they both tightened their grips around me.

“Yes Harry,” Hermione whispered, “Snape’s dead.” I was shaking with anger, my whole body reverberating with it.

“No! How could you? He was mine to kill! Not the Ministry’s! It was me that should have killed him!” Hot, angry tears fell down my cheeks as I screamed the words out.

“No Harry, you’re no murderer, you’re a hero, stop talking like that.” I tried to hit Ron, but between the two of them, I couldn’t do anything.

What was I going to do now? Killing Snape had been my goal for so long I wasn’t sure what to do now.

“You lie,” I hissed.

“It’s no lie Harry,” Hermione accio’d the Prophet I’d left on the table. I blinked tears out of my eyes to look at the cover story I hadn’t gotten to look at. There was Snape’s face, glaring out at the world, with the heading “Notorious Death Eater, Severus Snape, Dies This Morning After Last Night’s Ministry Trial.” I blinked at it a few times, and then screamed. Frustration, anger, sheer hatred and loathing came out in that scream. I dissolved into screaming sobs, I couldn’t take this frustration, I couldn’t deal with it.

How would I live now? What would I do now that there’s nothing left. What was I supposed to do with these feelings if there was no way to get rid of them? What should I do?

Why couldn’t it have been me that had killed Snape?


	3. Define Insane

  
Author's notes: Snape's POV. Severus gets a choice, but what will his answer be?  


* * *

“You are crazy.” I said this firmly, resolutely, completely believing the statement.

“I don’t think so Professor,” Mrs. Weasley said to me, a rather infuriating smile playing on the edge of her lips.

“I’ve not suffered that title for years, Mrs. Weasley, I would prefer it if you would use my name.”

“In that case, I expect you to call me Hermione. Only the day care center workers call me Mrs. Weasley.” She was still smiling at me. Were my wand near me, I might have seriously toyed with the concept of hexing her.

“I’m sorry to hear you are helping the Weasley’s procreate. You seemed like such an intelligent young lady to me,” Weasley turned to me with a frown on his face, but… Hermione… simply continued to smile.

“Well, even intelligent young ladies must become women, and in that moment they might not be using all that sense they have.” I raised my eyebrows, she had become very good at word battles since I knew her last.

“I suppose one mistake won’t ruin you, I trust the progeny is well loved?”

“Yes thank you, she is. I would have to remind you that your other option is to go yourself, face the same likely sentence and die.”

“We shouldn’t have extended the invitation ‘Mione, he’s a lost cause.” I snorted.

“If this were found out, you could lose your hospital, your reputation, your child, and possibly your life. You fully understand the consequences correct?” Ron Weasley glared at me, but Hermione lost her smile and looked down at her hands.

“I know that. Don’t you think he deserves peace Professor, sorry,” she glanced up at me apologetically, “sorry, Snape, don’t you agree?”

“So I perform slave labor in exchange for my life, and possibly Potters?” The infuriating girl nodded, that smile returning to her lips. “I still think your barking mad.” I considered her proposal.

Apparently Potter had a very large problem. Unfortunately, it had to do with me, just my luck. It seemed he had some kind of unhealthy obsession with killing me, I couldn’t imagine what I did to deserve that. Mrs. Weasley was proposing for me to allow someone else to go to the Ministry disguised as me so he would have to “deal with his emotions”. Why would they do this for me?

Hermione seemed to think I was innocent, how nice of her, of many of my crimes, and she wanted me to remain in her hospital to brew potions in exchange for my life.

Honestly, it seemed like a good deal on my end, except for one thing.

“What if they don’t have me sentenced to death?” Although it would be beneficial to my continued, rather normal, mental health, I did not truly think the Ministry was that blood thirsty.

However, as I watched the two Weasleys exchange looks, it seemed as though some things had drastically changed.

“Well, since the end of the war, the Ministry made some changes to its policies involving Death Eaters,” Hermione broached the subject carefully. I raised my eyebrows at her. She shrugged, “anyone found to be a Death Eater, or confirmed of being in league with Voldemort, are charged with the death sentence, a kiss from a Dementor.” I blinked at her.

“Only Death Eaters?” I said blandly. They both nodded. “How fair is the trial?” I tried to keep my tone as neutral as possible, however the flesh on my left arm was prickling.

“Terribly unfair, sir,” Ron said it rather meekly, looking away from me. I glanced at him fidgeting, then back to Hermione.

“I don’t stand a chance, do I?” Hermione met my gaze.

“Is the Dark Mark still on your arm Snape?” I put a hand to it and nodded, “Then you won’t even be able to speak at the trial, they’ll check it and sentence you right away. I’d give you 30 seconds speaking time, if that much.” I found that a sliver of ice was running through my body. Surely they hadn’t become that barbaric?

“But if you don’t believe us,” Ron shoved a paper at me, it was dated one week ago. I looked down at the title.

“Five More Confirmed Death Eaters Receive the Dementors Kiss!” I looked down the list of names, and I felt myself start to shake. Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Hanna Abbot and Justin Finch-Fletchley, I blinked at the list.

 

“Certainly Justin wasn’t…” I looked up at them, Hermione nodded.

“He chose to die. We offered him a similar option to what we’ve offered you, but he took the kiss. You see, he was certain he could convince them he was innocent, even though he knew how unyielding they’ve been. Hanna Abbot as well, they were going to get married this summer.” Hermione still looked disturbed, and I waited. It was Ron who spoke.

“They don’t know what they’re doing! What kind of fool believes those two were involved in dark magics?” He burst out savagely. There were tears at the corners of his eyes, but I was uncertain whether it was from anger or sadness.

“You see, they remained neutral during the war, you might remember, and someone convinced the Ministry that they were selling information to Voldemort about our side. The Ministry didn’t even want to hear what they had to say, someone said they saw them pass information to Malfoy, and Lucius said that was true,” Hermione glared at nothing in particular, “and that was it, there was no more investigation. So you see Snape,” I cut her off.

“Severus,” I said simply, she stared at me confused.

“What?” she asked finally.

“Severus. If you and I are going to work together in any context, you should call me Severus.” I turned to Ron, “and I suppose you should as well,” although I felt a different internal feeling about extending that invitation. It tasted like disgust.

He seemed floored by the concept. He was looking at me as though he thought I might deserve to be in this hospital. Hermione, I was beginning to think of her as “that dreadful girl”, was beaming at me. Personally, I thought she deserved to be in her own hospital more than I did.

“Then you’ll accept our offer?” She sounded positively pleased. I shook my head.

“Not so fast,” I said, returning my gaze to her. “I refuse to accept this agreement until I know who is taking my place.”

“No one,” she exclaimed in pleasure. I blinked at her, was she daft? I looked at Ron, who had a small smile on his face. Honestly, and they thought *Harry* was the crazy one?

“Oh, I see,” my sneer was common place again, “no one is going in my place. Well, so long as it’s perfectly clear, I wouldn’t want anyone to not be in on the joke. Or is it stupidity?” I looked between the two of them, “Gryffindor stupidity maybe?” Ron turned a glower at me, Hermione remained smiling.

“Not at all Severus. We’ve managed to create constructs,” she said simply. I shook my head.

“That knowledge has been lost for thousands of years, and even if you could create a construct in my image, it would take hours of preparation, and it would also have no soul to suck out by a Dementor.”

“I told you he’d catch on more quickly than Malfoy.” I turned my eyes sharply to Ron.

“Malfoy? One of them still lives?” I hissed. Hermione nodded.

“One of them still lives. As for the soul, any soul works so…” she pointed to a potted plant on the table near my bed. I continued to stare at her. The smile never wavered. “Every living thing has a soul. A flower is planted in the center of each construct, that’s the soul that is taken by the Dementor. An incredibly unsatisfactory dinner, I’m sure, but they haven’t caught on yet.”

“Draco,” I said, and her eyes got a bit wider.

“In one, I’m impressed,” she said simply.

“You wouldn’t have offered it to Lucius, and Narcissa would have told her husband.” My deduction rarely failed me.

“He’s working for us too. He and Harry seemed to have hit it off, not sure I approve,” Ron muttered the end to that sentence, but I heard it none the less.

“So Potter knows about this little… game you are playing?” I tried to keep the surprise from my voice, but I suspect Hermione heard it anyway.

“Yes, he approves of our efforts. He was the one that asked us to extend the invitation to Draco. He had a hard time convincing Ron.” I nodded.

“I’m sure. Do you mean to tell me that you already have a construct in my likeness made?”

“Yes, that’s why we didn’t arrive at the same time as Harry. We were finishing up the construct. Does this mean you’re accepting the invitation?” I stared at her, really studied her features, her bushy hair, the way her eyes shone in her face, the cast of pinkness to her cheeks, and finally nodded.

“On one condition. I keep my wand.” I would prefer to be facing down a Dementor than be around a bunch of Gryffindors with no wand. Things were strange enough as it was. Hermione handed me my wand, Ron was making a noise behind me.

“How do you know I won’t try to use this to escape now?” I asked, feeling the grip of the handle in my hands. I had never expected to get a chance to actively use magic again.

“Well, it’s a token of faith, isn’t it? Oh Ron, shut up,” she turned her eyes on him. “He has to trust us, and we have to trust him.”

“How can we trust him?” he said angrily.

“Because I’ve nothing to lose if I trust you except my freedom,” I turned to look at Ron myself, he had been watching me as soon as I had started talking. “As I haven’t really had freedom in over twenty years, that’s no real loss, and I have everything important to me to gain, which is my life. So you see Weasley, I really shouldn’t say no to the proposal, and I shouldn’t attempt to hex you to escape. I dare say living here is likely to be more comfortable than living in the muggle world.”

“Excellent, so, we need to move you as quickly as possible, can you stand?” I nodded and carefully stood up from the bed. I put on the large fluffy slippers that were next to the bed, and took a tentative step forward. I was a touch wobbly, but not to the extent that I was unable to walk. I took another small step towards the door.

“No Professor Snape,” came a voice I had not heard in years, “you’ll need to come this way.” It was coming from behind me. I turned my gaze back to see Draco Malfoy standing in an opening in the wall, behind which was a large room filled with cauldrons. He had a wide grin on his face, and looked healthier than I had ever seen him. His dark grey robes were simple, so unlike a Malfoy, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which exposed the Dark Mark on his forearm, and he was wearing another pair of the fluffy slippers I had on. I looked him up and down, and shook my head, as I turned to walk towards him instead.

“Perhaps you are crazy as well,” I said as he entered the room to help me walk. His smile only got wider.

“Well Professor, that depends on your definition of insanity.”


	4. The Cauldron Never Lies

  
Author's notes: Draco POV. Draco provides some insight for Harry.  


* * *

Even if he had been my favorite teacher, I hadn’t ever expected to see him as I was, bound to Weasley’s. Or perhaps it is because he was my favorite teacher that I felt this way. Honestly, seeing Professor Snape filled me with a cross between pleasure and pity. I may be conceited, but I knew my limitations.

I wouldn’t have survived alone without my parent’s. I wouldn’t have made it if I had gone to the Ministry, my mother had told me to find Severus, and he would protect me.

Right now, I felt like I was protecting him. I put a hand under his arm and around his waist to steady and guide him into the room. He let me get him to a chair, where he sat down gratefully. I wondered where he’d been living, his face wasn’t nearly so pale as I was used to, his hair was mid back length and had a healthy sheen to it. In fact, over all he looked… well… alive.

Even though I’d always liked Professor Snape, he’d had this, “I may have recently crawled out of a crypt” look about him. I adored that. There was a teacher everyone else would hate, and I would like. The only teacher I would have put up with the title, “Teacher’s Pet” from, though I’d’ve jinxed anyone who dared say it around me. It didn’t hurt that I’d heard about him my whole life, my parent’s even had photo’s of him so I knew him instantly upon arriving at Hogwarts. There was Professor Snape, the greatest potions master the world has ever seen.

Apparently that wasn’t enough for him, as it was never enough. He wanted to be pure blood, so many people did, and Voldemort had promised him that. I never used to understand what my father spoke of when he said the impure would become pure, but as time went on, and I grew up, I did.

Of course, this was neither here nor there. I shook my head slightly to clear it, focusing on my current issue: Professor Snape, alive, in front of me.

“Sir, are you tired?” I asked quietly.

“Exhausted Draco, I ache all over from whatever it is Potter did to me. I *had* been about to go to sleep when he “called”,” he spat out the words as though it was a curse or unpleasant in the mouth.

“Well sir,” I began, but he cut me off.

“Stop with that too Draco, I’m no longer your, no longer anyone’s, professor. You may call me Severus, I suppose,” he said, slightly moodily. I smiled again, wondering if he’d be able to handle me calling him Severus.

“Severus then,” the name flowed off my tongue like dew from a flower. It felt right to use the name, as though it should be spoken, not hidden. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I shrugged lightly, trying to contain the pleasure I felt at being able to call him as though we were equals. “Your room will be off this way, would you like to sit for a moment before I show you?” He nodded once, then glanced at the nearest cauldron.

“You’d better tend to that one,” he said, slightly sharply, “it’s getting too thick.

I nodded and rushed over to add the four cups of icy water it needed, monitoring its behavior closely. “Still as sharp as ever sir, that is, Severus.” I fumbled with his name a bit, but tried not to blush. He said nothing.

Once the silence had stretched on for several minutes, he shrugged. “It doesn’t take much to remember the sounds a potion makes, not when you’ve been around them as many years as I have.” I nodded.

“I’m going to be really glad to have you here, to be honest, as I won’t have to tell you what to do, and maybe you can help me with a few problems I’ve been having.” I could tell he was trying to remain uninterested, but his eyes watched me closely.

“Oh?” he questioned at last, and I stopped stirring to look up at him.

“Certainly you’re too tired to answer my questions now,” I said with a small smirk. His eyes narrowed.

“If you’re trying to be coy Draco, your advances are wasted on me, and you should try someone else. Either tell me or don’t but do *not* string me along for a ride.” I grinned.

“Of course sir, that is, Severus, I wasn’t trying to be coy.” I lost my smile and engaged him in a lengthy conversation about common herbs, and the uncommon uses I had found for them. Needless to say, he didn’t get to bed until it was fairly early morning and I was going to bed myself.

The next day, Severus didn’t wake up. Hermione had warned me that that could happen, but at first, it startled me. I shook him for five minutes before giving up. His brow was sweat soaked, so I got a washcloth to wipe it off.

A quick look over the rest of his sleeping form made me return to his bathroom to get a bowl of lukewarm water so I could wipe off more than his face.

It was amazing really, how much a sleeping form could tell you. I learned that he was ticklish at his wrists, he hated having his Dark Mark touched, and there was something wrong with his right side. He never moved, but he made expressions and small moans here and there that told me these things.

It was an interesting half hour, one that I enjoyed very much.

As I was leaving his room to enter the main room, the alarm went off. Several people rushed off to rooms, locking doors as they went. I made sure to lock Severus’ room behind me.

Harry knew most of the people Hermione and Ron had saved from death. He did not know about all of them. It was a dangerous game those two Weasleys had started playing, almost more deadly than the one involving us all residing in her hospital. If Potter found out about the ones Hermione or Ron had saved and not told him about, he might do something nutty, like destroy the building.

Ron and Hermione set up an alarm that would sound as soon as Harry entered the enclosed passageway to come to our part of the hospital. That would give us exactly two minutes before Harry would enter our main room.

I’m probably the only one who understands what Hermione did, and that’s partly because I helped her do it. It was a long and tedious process, but well worth my time. After all, I wasn’t planning on staying here forever. Someday I’d leave, and be free, something I’ve never been.

I moved to each of the cauldrons, checking them and tending to their various needs. Much sooner than expected, the main door opened.

“False alarm!” Hermione said cheerfully, waving her arms around in the air. I rolled my eyes and returned my gaze to the cauldron I had been stirring. Ron ignored me to go talk with Arnold Swank, an accused Death Eater, and Hermione walked purposefully over to me.

“Hello Draco, how is he?” I finished my tenth stir before looking up at her.

“Out cold, completely unaware,” my words came out quickly, and I returned to counting my stirs.

“I had a feeling he’d be that way. I was afraid of forcing his body to be animated because of the consequences. Harry just wouldn’t tell me what he did, and now that he’s…” she paused deep in thought. I finished twenty and then thirty stirs before she spoke again. “I’m glad we did this, but it’s very tough on Harry.”

“That was your point though, wasn’t it?” I asked, starting my next batch of stirs. She sighed and took a seat in the nearest chair, looking somewhat defeated. Forty stirs and another sigh came from her.

“Yes, I just wish I didn’t have to see him like this. I just wish he’d seen one of the healers, he’s still refusing, but I hope he’ll give in soon.”

Fifty stirs, I looked up at her fully. Her face was slightly pink, and she was slumped in her seat. I gave an exasperated sigh.

“Hermione, you can’t blame yourself for the decisions Harry has made. You also can’t blame yourself for his mental state, all of that is out of your hands. This is one thing I know from personal experiences, you can’t force your wants on others. They’ll take them or deny them, but you can’t make them what you want.” I paused for a second of thought.

“I’ll go visit him,” I said finally. She looked up at me and I saw a flicker of hope.

“You will?” she asked in, I think, excitement. I nodded my head and handed her the ladle I was using to stir.

“It’s been through its fifty swirls, so you’ve just got to watch it and make sure it doesn’t bubble.” She stood up and flung her arms around my neck, something I felt she did way too often.

“Careful,” I said, briefly returning the hug, “your little husband will get jealous.” She giggled, something that I had to say was tolerable coming from Hermione.

“He won’t be, I told him you were gay.” I laughed at that, letting her go.

“Did you now? Then why is he glaring at me?” She turned her eyes to look over at Ron, who turned away just before Hermione could see the daggers that had been shooting out of his eyes.

“Oh, he’s just being silly,” she took the ladle and made a shooing gesture towards me. “Go on, I think you can do good things for Harry that I can’t.”

I allowed myself to be shooed, leaving the main room after I gave a smirk towards Ron.

Out of everyone here, I think I was one of the most trusted. It was an odd sensation, to be trusted by the three who hadn’t ever trusted me in school. I’d only been here for a year, yet Hermione had complete faith in me. Because of this trust, I was the only one who had access and knowledge of the whole, complex passage system that was in the building. It took me just under a minute to make my way to Harry’s room. I didn’t knock, I never did, I simply opened the door and stepped into the sty that was Harry Potter’s personal room.

Dobby would have a fit if he saw this room the way it was right now. Clothes littered the floor, old cafeteria trays were stacked in a box, three sheet sets were tossed in a corner, and Harry Potter himself was lying across his bed, face down, fully clothed. I shook my head, closed the wall door behind me and walked over to him.

“You’re a state.” I sat down on the bed next to him and tried to push him over onto his back. He didn’t budge. “Well, now that I know you’re awake, how about you face me?” I said dryly. He didn’t move. “I still remember where you’re ticklish the most.” This comment caused quite a commotion, which I knew it would. Harry pushed himself up and away from me very quickly, murder in his eyes.

“You stay away from me!” he half shouted. Quite the reaction, I raised my eyebrows.

“Well, now that we’re back on speaking terms, I have a question for you.” He looked as though that was the strangest thing I could have said to him. He calmed down instantly, amazingly enough.

“Do you hate yourself so much you don’t really care about what you do to your body?” He blinked at me a few times, then shook his head.

“Draco, what the hell are you talking about?” I gave a small shrug.

“Your emotions and your mind are part of your body Harry, accept them, learn from them, and know when it’s time to amputate.” I said simply. He remained focused on me, but looked completely confused. I sighed.

“Okay, let’s try a different approach. Say you have a potion,” Harry groaned and fell back down onto the bed, “I’m going to make this very simple Harry. Say you’re brewing a potion, and you made a mistake. Do you chuck the whole thing out, or fix it?” He looked up from his hands.

“How important is it and do you have the time to make a new one?” I nodded then nodded again.

“You have the time to remake it, and it’s incredibly important, but you only had enough ingredients to do one potion.” He shrugged.

“Then you try to fix it of course,” he sounded annoyed.

“Oh, I’m glad you agree with Hermione and Ron, shall I tell them to set up your first healer appointment?” It took a moment for my words to register, but when they did, he narrowed his eyes.

“I have no intention of seeing one of Hermione’s healers!” he said angrily. I raised my eyebrows.

“Are you saying you aren’t worth fixing Harry? Because if you aren’t, then I could kill you, I’d be in no worse shape than I am currently.”

“What are you talking about?” he tried to stay angry, but Hermione’s wards were kicking in.

“Harry, *you* are the potion. Something got messed up along the brewing of the potion, which is your life. Your life is incredibly important, but you only have it once, so it’s time to fix you. If you won’t want to see a healer, that’s your option, but remember that a potion that simmers too long goes foul, and will eventually be worthless. No one, not Ron, not Hermione, not even me, want to see you lose to your anger.” I stood up.

“Think about it Harry. Not the pitiful self loathing think, or the woe is me think, but honest, open thinking. Write it down if you must, but *think* about how important you are to yourself, and whether you deserve to be fixed.” I walked to the door and opened it.

“Don’t answer me, answer yourself.” He kept his eyes on me and finally sighed.

“How do you know what to say to me anyway?” he muttered. I gave a smirk.

“What can I say, the cauldron never lies, and I’ve been watching your cauldron for years.” I slipped out of the room quickly before he could stop me.

Honestly, I think I might be going soft.


End file.
